


Forged in Dragonfire

by TheCookieOfDoom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragons, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11957250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: The strongest steel is forged in dragon fire, quenched in blood. The toughest armor is created from the impenetrable scales along the ridges of a dragon’s back. The only way to attain these things, fire and scales, is to enslave one such beast. There has never been a full suit of armor and weapon ever created to be wielded by one single man.Robb Stark gathered his army for the final battle, clad in the scales of the palest dragon and brandishing a sword still glowing white from a dragon’s breath, and all quivered in fear before him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is it. This is my first ever Jon/Robb fic, written way back in March. I worked for hours to complete it and it's the most progress I had made in months I terms of writing. And it Is also the reason you all have seen so many fics from me in such a short time; this fic helped me rediscover my muse (so be nice in reviewing! jkjk <3)

It is said that the strongest steel is forged in dragon fire, and quenched in blood. It is said that the toughest armor is created from the impenetrable scales along the ridges of a dragon’s back. It is said that the only way to attain these things, fire and scales, is to enslave one such beast. It is said that there has never been a full suit of armor and weapon ever created to be wielded by one single man. None were strong enough to subjugate the dragons and create such priceless prizes. 

When Robb Stark gathered his army for the final battle that would end the war and change the tides of history, clad in the scales of the palest dragon and brandishing a sword still glowing white from a dragon’s breath, all quivered in fear before him. When he rode into battle astride the white dragon’s back, there was no question who the victor would be. 

***

“You’ll need this repaired,” Jon said as he assisted Robb in removing his armor, brushing his fingers over the rather large dent right over where Robb’s heart would be. The spear had almost gone right through him. Another hit certainly would, were he struck in the center of his chest like that again. The steel would not be strong enough to withstand it.

“Aye. Lucky you were there to catch the bastard before he could do anymore damage.” Jon snorted softly, unbuckling the strap behind Robb to pull off the chest plate.

“You were always the slower one out of the two of us.” In all honestly, though, Jon was thanking the gods that he had been there as well. He hadn’t been fast enough to push Robb out of the way, but he had cut the spearman in half with his sword, preventing him from penetrating Robb’s armor. He had been sent to the ground, though, with enough force that he was unable to draw breath for several long seconds. He would have been trampled by his own men or run through by the Lannisters’ had Jon not been at his side, protecting his king.

“Really now, I’m the slow one?” He grabbed Jon by the wrists and turned them, pinning him against a large post in the center of the tent before Jon could catch onto his intentions. Jon grunted as he was shoved back against the wood, looked at Robb with narrowed eyes. His king just grinned, holding Jon’s hands above his head effortlessly, knowing that was in part because of Jon’s lack of struggling. 

“Were it not treason, I’d put you on your ass,” Jon said flippantly, tossing his hair out of his face. While Robb was distracted by his head moving, he brought his leg up between them, foot planted against Robb’s abdomen to shove him back. Robb let go of Jon to catch himself against the war table, maps and plans fluttering to the ground with the force of his impact. Jon followed to pin Robb down, but Robb beat him to it, tackling him to the ground. Again Jon found himself with his hands pinned above his head, his body pinned down by Robbs larger one. He struggled to find purchase to kick Robb off of him until he was tired and panting; it was fruitless. Robb was like a ton of bricks on top of him, and he couldn’t fight against gravity.

“What was that, Snow?” Robb asked, his mouth still upturned by that damned smirk. Jon ached for the days when they were back in Winterfell, practicing in the training yard. The good old days when they were just boys playing at being men, beating each other black and blue with their practice swords. Back when Jon could still put Robb on his ass, as he had previously threatened. It wasn’t that he was prevented now by Robb’s new title, he didn’t care about that and he knew Robb didn’t either. He just physically could not best the other man, now hardened and trained by war. It was a rare occasion when Jon would come out to be the one on top in their fights.

He was brought out of his reverie by a sharp tug on his dark curly hair, and Robb’s voice. “What?”

“I said, what are you thinking about?” Robb asked with a laugh in his voice. There was a shine in his eyes that Jon hadn’t seen in far too long. He missed seeing his brother so happy, it was becoming far too rare an occasion. 

“I was just reminiscing. Remembering all the times I kicked your ass when we used to practice together.”

“Times were simpler then.” Back before everything had gone to hell, with seemingly everyone vying for the throne. Before Eddard Stark had left, and forced Robb to become a lord sooner than he was ready for. Lost in his own thoughts, now, Robb gave Jon just the opening he needed to reverse their positions, throwing Robb off of him.

“Never let your guard down, Your Highness,” Jon said, holding back a smile. He pat Robb’s cheek patronizingly before standing and offering his hand, pulling Robb up to his feet.

“What do you say we go practice, for old time’s sake?” Robb asked, nodding towards the entrance to his tent.  Jon was agreeing before he had even really heard what was being asked of him; he didn’t think there was anything he could deny Robb, not now. The man could ask him to take King’s Landing armed with nothing more than a single blunt dagger, and by the Old Gods and the new, Jon would find some way to do it or die trying.

“We should go into the woods; I wouldn’t want to humiliate you in front of your men.”

“Just for that, Snow, you’re going to be picking leaves out of your teeth by the time I’m done with you,” Robb growled playfully, smacking at Jon’s side with the flat of his blade. Grinning, Jon donned his furs and grabbed his own sword, holding the tent entrance open for Robb.

“We shall see, my King.”

Jon lead Robb into the trees, and it seemed as if they were walking forever before they came across a secluded clearing. Jon stated that it had only been a few minutes when Robb voiced this, removing his cloak to lay it over a tree limb. Robb did the same, and together they headed to the center of the clearing, swords brandished at each other.

They regarded each other with narrowed eyes, searching for any openings. When they had been younger, they’d only gone through the motions, not really knowing they were looking for. Now, though, they were not hindered by inexperience. Jon lunged when Robb changed his stance, creating an opening, his left elbow up just a little too high. It would have been a fatal blow, his side exposed without the protection of armor, had Robb not deflected it and answered with one of his own, bringing his sword down over his head. Jon was quick, though, using his slighter form to his advantage as he ducked past Robb and planted his foot firmly on the other back. Robb barely caught himself in time to turn and cross his sword with Jon’s.

“You’re losing,” Jon taunted, grinning. They were so close to each other, Robb could feel Jon’s warm puffs of breath across his face, passing between their swords. Robb spread his stance, pushing off from the foot further behind him to leverage Jon away.

“You wish, Snow.”

The clash of steel rang through the forest, accompanied by crunching snow beneath booted feat and harsh breathing. Taunts flew between them, biting, spurred on as their competition seemed as if it would come to a stalemate. The advantage passed back and forth between them, but there was no clear winner. They were matched for skill in a fair fight; but if there was anything war had taught Robb, it was that they weren’t won by fair fights. And when next his sword was crossed with Jon’s, he reached to grasp his hair and wrench his head back hard, pulling until Jon’s back was bowed to the point he was forced to relinquish his sword and grab at Robb’s shoulders to remain upright. Robb pressed the tip of his sword into the hollow of Jon’s throat, drawing a little prick of blood from his pale flesh.

“I yield,” Jon said through gritted teeth, trying to lean away from the sword with a hiss as it dug into his flesh.

Robb was a strong man. Countless amongst his people would describe him as such. And he was, on the battlefield he was unstoppable. But he knew that he was in fact a very weak man. If he was strong, he wouldn’t have thrown his sword to the ground, only to replace it with his lips against Jon’s throat. Jon groaned, Robb’s cold lips a stark contrast against his warm skin. Robb tongued at his copper-tanged flesh, licking at it like a kitten would cream, pulling more of those delicious moans from Jon’s lips. The way Robb was bent over him, holding Jon so far back, Jon had no choice but to simply hold on and let Robb do as he pleased.

“Ahh—Rob, if we get caught—“

“We won’t,” Robb said, confident that they wouldn’t. He nipped at the straining tendon in Jon’s neck, grazed his teeth over the man’s jaw. “No one will come looking for us.” 

Jon bit his lip in an attempt to stifle his moans. Robb in turn ravaged his neck, biting and sucking until the porcelain white skin was a nice rosy red, and even the lightest touch of his tongue to the sensitive flesh was enough to make Jon shiver. Robb would be content to stay this way forever, one gloved hand buried in Jon’s hair, clenching tighter and pulling at his roots _ just so _ until he cried out, the other braced at his lower back to keep him from falling. But again, he was a weak man. He craved more of Jon than just his tantalizing neck, and before long he found himself unable to hold back his desire for more, more, more.

Pulling Jon back upright, fast enough to make him dizzy, Robb captured his lips in a burning kiss and held Jon pressed up against him. Jon’s arms wound tighter around Rob’s shoulders, hands tangling in his hair and jerking at it. The kiss turned harsh, then, Robb biting at Jon’s lower lip and worrying it between his teeth. He pushed Jon backwards, forcing him to walk while attempting to not break the kiss. Now that the fires of passion had been stoked between them, they had no hope of stopping. Jon’s kisses were always hungry, his grip always a touch too tight—he always held onto what little he could call his own and dammit, Robb was his, only his—and Robb loved it. He loved the ache in his limbs coming from practicing in the cold, the bruises Jon would leave in his flesh, the ones he would more often leave on Jon. He loved the feeling of his hair pulled so tight in Jon’s grip, the feverish feeling of his skin against his lips. The desperate sounds Jon would make for him when Robb touched him just right.

He was far from gentle as he pushed Jon into a wide tree, the younger man’s head smacking against the rough bark with a dull sound. Robb held him there, the hand in his hair coming down to rest over his throat, squeezing and squeezing until he could feel Jon’s heartbeat through his gloves. The other could barely breathe as Robb stroked his index finger along his jaw, watching his stormy eyes darken with lust. Jon could imagine how dark his own eyes were as he stared back at Robb, meeting his gaze and silently pleading him to just do something,  _ anything _ , before he went mad. He pulled at Robb’s hair sharply, and Robb could feel a few curly strands snap beneath the pressure. Smirking, he kicked Jon’s legs apart to create room to force his thigh up between Jon’s legs.

“Seven hells, you’re desperate for it, aren’t you, Snow?” he mumbled, feeling how hard Jon was through his trousers, shamelessly rutting against his thigh.

“Fuck off, Stark, just touch me already.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He leaned into to nuzzle Jon sweetly, kissing at the sensitive place behind his ear that never failed to make him keen, shivers running down his spine. “Why don’t you beg for me, first.”

Robb was achingly hard himself, but he couldn’t pass up a chance to wipe the smirk off Jon’s face and reduce him instead to a desperate mess. Jon was arrogant, though, and Robb knew it would take more than simply asking him to comply. He loosened his grip around Jon’s throat, stroking him soothingly, and continued to press kisses against that lovely little place. Jon was stubborn, but when Robb’s soft tongue laved across his skin, teasing, he could feel his resolve weakening. His hips were moving of their own volition, grinding his hard cock against Robb’s taught thigh until he was stopped with a hand on his hip, holding him back against the tree to keep him from being able to get any friction.

“Ah—ahh—Robb,” he groaned, making soft little gasps as Rob trailed bites down his jaw. “Please, stop teasing me and get  _ on _ with it already.” Robb chuckled against his skin, unlacing Jon’s shirt so that he could nibble at his collarbone.

“That’s the best I’m going to get from you tonight, isn’t it?” He could keep pressing the matter if he wanted, but, well,  _ weakness _ . He was just as impatient as Jon was, and he could admit to occasionally having poor impulse control. He did have enough control, however, to pull his cloak off the tree branch beside them and lay it over the snow, before shoving Jon down onto it. He was a gentleman, after all.

“Spread your legs like the whore you are, Snow,” Robb ordered, before deciding Jon wasn’t obeying fast enough and doing it for him, settling between the man’s legs and pulling them around his hips. Jon held Robb close, grinding their hips together. Robb covered Jon’s body with his own, bracing himself with his hands on either side of his head, pressing his hips down in sharp jerks. Jon pulled him down to kiss him, moaning into it as they finally found a matching rhythm, rutting against each other in the snow like beasts.

“I want to be inside you,” Robb mumbled, dragging Jon’s bottom lip through his teeth. And oh, how Jon wanted that too, aching for the way Robb’s cock felt when it was stretching him open.

“We can’t, not now.” Neither of them had thought to bring any oil along. This was supposed to just be some practice to wind down for the night, before bed. If one of them had intended this, or even expected, they would have been prepared. Now, Jon was cursing himself; they never knew when they would have a moment alone, he should just always be prepared in case the chance arose. “Next time,” he promised, burying his face against Robb’s warm neck.

Robb reached between them to open their pants and grip their cocks, gasping as the cold air hit his hot flesh.

“Fuck,” Jon groaned, bucking his hips up into Robb’s hand.

“Next time,” Robb said, stroking their cocks slowly. “Next time, I’m going to take you apart. Slowly, until you can’t think to do anything but moan my name.”

“I’ll open you up, but I won’t give you my cock until you’ve  _ earned _ it. Really earned, begging with that sweet voice of yours.” His hand sped up as he felt Jon panting against his neck.

“I’ll start of gentle with you, kiss you all over and call you pretty things the way I know you like, even if you won’t admit it. Then, I’ll fuck you  _ hard _ . I want you limping by the time I’m done with you, aching and covered with bruises for days after I’m finally finished with you so that you remember who you belong to.” He could feel himself getting close, and he hoped Jon was as well, wanting the younger to come first. Another of their silent competitions, who could last the longest. 

“Then, I’ll fill you with my seed. I know how much you love it when I come inside you, all warm and sticky. It makes you feel like a woman around me, so wet inside with oil and come.” He bit at Jon’s neck, harder this time, and Jon came, his cries carried away by the gentle breeze. Robb followed him, moaning Jon’s name against his marred flesh.

They stayed together like that, panting against each other, unwilling to move. Moving meant getting up and getting cleaned off, leaving back to camp to pretend as if none of this had happened. As if they truly had only left for a few rounds of friendly swordplay. Jon thought, with a little smile, that swordplay was exactly what they had been doing. 

Unwilling to bear the cold any longer, they got to tucking themselves away and wrapping around each other to conserve warmth.  Jon kissed at Robb’s throat, more to have something to do than anything else. They didn’t speak, simply basking in their peaceful sanctuary. They could almost pretend there wasn’t a war happening just on the other side of the tree line. Jon wanted to pretend, as they once did when they were boys. For old time’s sake, he wanted to pretend that they were in the Godswood, rather than farther south than he’d ever been. But there was a war going on, even if the battle was over for now, and they couldn’t stay forever.

“Stay with me tonight?” Robb asked, his nose buried in Jon’s soft curls.

“If that is what my king wishes,” Jon said, stroking his hand up Robb’s side.

Slowly, the cold truly setting in now that they weren’t active enough to create their own heat, the two men got up and once more donned their cloaks. Jon couldn’t leave without stealing one more kiss, this one soft as he pressed his lips to Robb’s.

They made their way back to Robb’s tent, spending a few minutes to clean their clothes before climbing into bed together. It felt like it had been ages since they’d shared a bed—perhaps it had, for all it felt like a lifetime—sneaking to sleep together when they were boys to ward off the cold. Jon told himself that was all this was now, as he sat astride Robb, pressing kisses to each and every bruise across his chest. Each one of those marks, colored everywhere from red to blue-purple to yellow-green could have ended his life, had the one striking him been just a little stronger.

It was just to ward off the cold, Robb told himself, as he wrapped his arms around Jon and pulled him until their bodies were flush together, his thigh nestled between Jon’s legs.

“I love you,” Jon mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep, his breath ghosting over Robb’s chest.

“I love you, too,” Robb mumbled back, his fingertips stroking over Jon’s shoulder until he fell asleep, a bastard and a king sharing the same bed in the most unusual of relationships. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The next few days are trying as the battle begins anew. Robb leads his men into battle, Jon never far from his side, and once more the Northmen emerge victorious, gaining more ground on the Lannister’s, who have been forced once again to retreat. His blood singing with adrenaline, Robb intends to steal away with Jon to hold him to his promise of ‘next time’. Except when he turns to find Jon, the man is nowhere to be seen. Jon has often been called Robb’s shadow, because it was true more often than not, the boy never straying too far from his brother when they were children. That makes his absence feel wrong in the purest sense of the word. Since the war began, Jon was never farther than his eyes could see during battle. With budding concern, he stops the first soldier he sees, asking after Jon’s whereabouts. The soldier says the last he saw of Jon, he was on the battlefield.

Robb continues asking, banner men and foot soldiers alike, and each time he is met with the same answer. No one saw Jon leave the battlefield.  With fear filling his chest and creeping up his throat until he feels as if he cannot breathe, Robb calls for a group of soldiers to help him search the field for Jon, praying to the gods that he is still alive, and simply wounded.

“You’re Highness!” a young soldier, no more than a boy really, calls. His face is a deathly pale, drained of color as Robb comes running. The King in the North already knows what he will be met with before he sees the body a few feet away from the boy. He can’t breathe.

Curled up around Jon’s corpse is Ghost, once pristine white fur muddied and bloodied, snapping his teeth and growling ferociously at the young soldier, then at Robb as he approaches.

“Easy, Ghost,” he said, trying to soothe the beast as he kneels in the mud, one hand extended. Ghost sniffs at him, whimpering when he recognizes Robb’s scent.

Robb crawls closer as Ghost got off of Jon, cupping the man’s bearded cheek. His skin was cold to the touch, and pale with death; Robb could only assume that Jon had been here for hours, bleeding out into the mud and filth around him.

“Leave us,” he said, his voice eerily calm and colder than steel as he slid his arm underneath Jon, cradling him close.

“Your Maj-“

“I said leave us!” His body was taught as a bowstring, trembling with the force of the emotions warring inside him, eyes misty to the point he couldn’t see clearly. Everyone scurried away from him as if he would execute them otherwise. Perhaps he would. But right now, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jon. Jon’s eyes were still open, glassy and staring off. Robb lifted his hand to close them, unable to bear it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered raggedly, burying his face against Jon’s neck, a sob tearing its way out of his throat. “I should have protected you.” Jon had risked his life so many times to save Robb, and the one time he needed Robb to be there, he wasn’t. Robb hadn’t even realized Jon wasn’t with him. Sentencing Jon to die alone in his agony. Sobs and agonized screams wracked Robb’s body as he clutched Jon’s corpse, echoed by Ghost’s anguished howling.

Robb cried for hours, until he could into cry no more, feeling as though he would be sick. His throat was raw, the tang of iron on his tongue. But all the tears in the world didn’t bring Jon back to him, and he knew that as much as he felt as if his heart had been cleaved from his chest, he could not stay here and wallow in his grief. Robb lifted Jon into his arms and carried him away from the battlefield. The walk through camp was eerily silent, all eyes trained on him. He heard the whispers that followed, that he was the visage of death itself as he carried Jon into the forest, to the clearing that had become theirs.

Gently, he laid Jon on the ground, brushed his hair back, and if he wanted, he could pretend Jon was only sleeping. If he looked past the gaping wound in his abdomen stained in a sludge of black blood, he could convince himself that Jon would wake up in a little while, and smile his pretty smile. But Robb hadn’t played pretend since he was a boy, and now he felt older than Maester Luwin. With a heavy heart and heavier sword, he went to begin cutting down tree branches until he had enough would to build a pyre for Jon.

Robb couldn’t bear to stay and watch the fire melt Jon’s flesh from his bones and eventually burn itself out. Instead he went back to camp, numb, unwilling to let himself feel anything but rage.

“The Lannisters have retreated,” he called, earning a cheer from his men. “Take this night to take care of the dead and regroup. Pray to whatever gods you worship; when the sun comes, we will follow after the Lannisters, and we will destroy them all.” The men cheered again, but Robb couldn’t find it within himself to share their enthusiasm as he retired to his tent. He was still covered in Jon’s blood. He couldn’t get out of his armor fast enough, standing naked in the middle of his tent, still covered in grime in some places. His hands were, miraculously, free of blood. He knew that it was because he’d been wearing cloves, but he felt as if he should be up to his elbows in Jon’s blood.

His heart clenched as he thought of his lover, going to the bucket of water in one corner and grabbing a cloth so that he could wash away the blood as best he could, scrubbing until he was red and raw. Once he was as clean as he would be able to get, he dressed in his spare clothes and got to cleaning the others, then left it to hang by the fire to dry as he looked over his battle plans. He couldn’t help but think there had to have been something, anything, that he could have changed that would have prevented Jon’s death. He kept coming back to one thing; he shouldn’t have allowed himself to forget Jon was with him. Maybe if he hadn’t, if he had seen Jon go down, he could have gotten him to a healer. Logically, he knew that wasn’t true. Black blood meant he had been stabbed in the liver, and that wasn’t something that could be treated. But emotions weren’t logical.

Rob didn’t sleep until he absolutely had to, and even then, it was fitful. When he finally descended into unconsciousness, he could have sworn he’d heard the roaring of a dragon. He last thought before the darkness was, _good, let us all burn._

***

Jon came to amidst smoke, soot filling his lungs. Even covered in ash as he was, he felt… purified. Renewed. _Reborn_. He felt at his healed-over abdomen, the memory of agony, of being run through with a sword, was nothing more than a vague ghost in the back of his mind. He died. He knew he had died, and yet here he was, breathing, freezing amidst the snow. Except… no, he wasn’t freezing, not really. The cold was comfortable, when he touched the cold snow, it felt welcoming.

Standing, he looked around his surroundings. It took him a moment, but he realized exactly where he was, where Robb must have left him. Jon wanted to go to him, before the young king did something stupid like getting himself killed, but Jon didn’t even make it one step before a wave of agony was sending him to the ground. The second wave was stronger than the first, sending him screaming. It was as if every single one of his nerve endings were awash with fire. That was only the beginning, however, a change soon beginning to overtake his body. Scales pushed through his skin, hard and pale. Teeth turned to grotesque fangs too big for his mouth, shoulders to wings, bones elongating and cracking and shifting. Finally, his screams of agony and terror turned to deep roars, fire like ice coming forth from his maw in a mist of glass-like shards.

Where there had once lain a man now crouched a dragon, with stark white scales and eyes the color of amethyst.

 

Jon reared his head back with another deep bellow, feeling the sound resonating within the marrow of his bones. All his life, he’d felt as though there had been something missing. When he was younger, he thought it was a mother’s love, a father’s pride. But now, it was as if something within him had finally been filled, finally clicked into place. This is what he’d been missing, the knowledge of what he truly was. He took to the skies, great wings beating with enough force to fell the trees closest to him, and he felt a freedom unlike any other. What was the will of lords and kings to a dragon, the most powerful of all ancient beasts?

Hours upon hours he spent soaring through the clouds, his colorless form blending almost seamlessly with the clouds of an incoming storm. He flew higher and higher, until the cities of man were no more than the pinpricks of a needle amongst the white wasteland of the North. He never needed to go home, the dragon realized. He didn’t have a home; he never really had. There was nothing left for him in Winterfell, or all of Westeros, condemned to ruin by its own peoples. He could fly for farther lands, get as far from Westeros as was possible.

As Jon was flying, lost in the clouds, he noticed a great black mass, a town most likely. Except, it was moving. Not a town, an army. Robb’s army. The thought of Robb made Jon’s great wings stop beating, and he immediately fell, hurtling towards the ground. The taste of freedom turned to ash in his mouth. How could he leave Robb? All the freedom in all of the lands didn’t matter if it meant giving up his lover. Jon had dedicated his life to Robb so many years ago, and he would rather be chained like a beast at the King’s feet than live one day in the clouds without him.

Jon’s wings snapped open once more just in time, and he glided over the snow-covered ground, his inhuman eyes set on the army that was miles away.

***

Robb left his tent when he heard a curious murmur amongst his men, then troubling shouts. “What in the seven hells is going on here?” he barked.

“There’s a dragon! It’s coming this way!” one soldier cried.

“Nonsense, the dragons all died out!”

“Apparently not, or are ya blind?”

The argument continued, and just as Robb was about to break it up to ask, again, what the hell was going on, a dragon did swoop overhead with enough force to upend numerous tents. One of the banners got caught in its claws, flapping comically. Robb was speechless, watching the dragon hurtle towards the ground, and instead of landing, it tucked its wings and collided with the earth, sliding across and leaving a great trench in its wake. When the beast finally came to a stop half a mile away, it lay motionless, as if dead. Everyone stopped and stared, silent, looked between each other, then finally up at Rob, as if he had any idea what to do in this situation.

Awestruck at the impossibility of the dragons appearance, Robb shook his head and called for five of his best spearmen to mount up and follow him. Grabbing his sword, he went to mount his horse and ride for the dragon, his men following close behind. Ghost ran ahead of him, stopping at the edge of the crater and howling. Robb couldn’t understand why for several minutes, until he came to look inside the crater as well. He could hardly believe his eyes, but there in the center in place of a dragon laid a man, a tattered Stark banner wrapped around him to preserve his modesty. Telling his men to stay where they were, he climbed off his horse and watched Ghost pace, on edge, before descending into the crater. He knelt by the man and put a hand on his shoulder—the other on the hilt of his sword—and rolled him over onto his back.

 

Jon coughed, clutching the banner around himself like a makeshift cloak—or shawl, rather, without how small it was in comparison—looking up at Robb. He smiled that smile that Robb had been dreaming of for days, and Robb thought that he had finally gone mad from grief. That didn’t stop him from clutching Jon to him desperately.

“Are you real?” he asked, voice hoarse. Robb didn’t think he could bear it if Jon said no. Thankfully, Jon did no such thing, holding Robb to him. The hand in his hair felt solid, tugging at the strands in a way that couldn’t be imagined.

“I’m real, Robb. I’m alive. I don't know how, but _I'm alive_.” Robb couldn’t breathe with the effort it took to not fall apart completely. He had watched the fires take Jon’s body, and yet here he was, naked and unharmed, if filthy from mud and soot. There was no way that could be possible, just as there was no way for the dragon he had seen fall here could turn into his beloved. Real the man may be, but he was not Jon. It was a cruel trick, it had to be. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Jon’s touch, the other whispering soothing words to him, stroking his hair and holding him close, as if he were a boy in need of coddling. That was exactly how Robb felt.

“Shhh, Robb, my king, there’s no need to cry,” Jon murmured, his cheek resting on Robb’s head as he rubbed away his tears. “It’s alright, everything is going to be alright.” Perhaps not everything, Jon could not predict what the future held. But right now, the only everything that mattered was what was inside that crater.

“I-I burned you. I held your _corpse_. How can you be here?”

When Jon spoke, it was with words that didn’t feel like his own, but all the same felt at home on his tongue. “Fire cannot kill a dragon.”

“But you were _dead_. I know you were.”

“I don’t know what happened, Robb. I can’t explain it. But the gods have given us a second chance.” Robb wanted to ask at what price, but right now, he didn’t care. He would pay any price if it meant that he could keep Jon with him, alive and healthy.

“Gods, you must be freezing,” he suddenly realized, pulling away to shrug off his cloak and wrap it instead around Jon’s shoulders. Jon smiled gratefully, the cloak covering much more of him than the banner did. He clutched the front of it to hold it closed.

“Not particularly. I don’t feel the cold anymore, not really.” Rather than an aching beast that gnawed at his bones, it now felt like a familiar companion, wrapping around his body in a familiar embrace, caressing his skin with a gentle touch. He smiled. “But thank you, I don’t fancy much returning naked.”

Robb looked at him with wide eyes, bewildered. "Let’s get back, we have a lot to discuss.”

Reluctantly Robb forced himself to let go of Jon, standing and helping him to his feet. Jon was unsteady, as if no longer accustomed to human legs, and Robb wondered how long he had been in the form of a dragon. Looking to the side at Jon, he could still hardly believe the other was here. He was waiting to wake up, for this all to be nothing but a cruel dream, a trick played on him by his grieving mind.

 Together they made their way—with some difficulty—out of the crater, Ghost trailing faithfully at Jon's side. At the top Robb's men were staring, a jolting reminder that they had not been alone all this time. They would have to come up with some way to explain away Jon's presence, and the dragon.

"Ride back to camp and tell no one of what you saw here," he ordered, before dismissing his men. Only when they were specks in the distance did he turn to Jon and finally kiss him. His mouth tasted like ice and ash, but Robb couldn't bring himself to care. Not when Jon was winding his arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, holding him as if he had no intention of ever letting Robb go again.

"I'm here," Jon said when they broke away at last. He looked up at Robb, the young king watching as flakes of snow settled on Jon's thick lashes and pale cheeks. Robb laid his hand on Jon's face, brushing away a snowflake, a smiled.

"I think you brought the North with you." Snow this far south was a rarity, all but unheard of, temperatures not lowering enough for anything more than freezing rain.

At that Jon's smile turned wicked and serpentine, something flashing in his eyes that put Robb on edge in the best of ways. He couldn't help but kiss him again, reveling in the feeling of Jon's cold lips against his own.

"Let's get back to camp. Like you said, we have a lot to discuss."

"Aright," Robb agreed, not quite ready to return. He mounted his horse, pulling Jon up behind him, suddenly very aware that Jon was naked. He arched through him, and he resolved to get Jon into his bed as soon as they returned, kicking his horse into a gallop so that time would come all the sooner. He got the impression Jon knew exactly what he was thinking from the way he wrapped his arms around Robb's waist, hands resting just barely above his best.

"Ride faster," Jon whispered against his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got to revamp the next chapter, so I'll post sometime around next week. (for real this time i swear)

**Author's Note:**

> all of the chapters are finished, but I'm going to try practicing some self-restraint. CH 1 today, 2 next Wednesday, and 3 Wednesday after that <3


End file.
